Between the End and the Beginning
by SuperiorDimwit
Summary: This is the little brother of The End of the Beginning. All things don't make it into the fic: these are the moments in between, born spontaneously or through inspiration from readers. So it's... a ficlet? Doodle collection? Something along those lines.
1. Concerning skirts

**In ch 28, Shiro kept himself from asking about skirts when he and Mephisto rode to Tokyo airport. Thanks to XxAlysxX, we know how such a questioning might have turned out.**

I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.

In a restaurant somewhere in True Cross Town...

"Hey, Mephisto-san...? I was just thinking..." Big lie. If he had been thinking he wouldn't have opened his mouth in the first place. "Do you ever wear  
skirts?"

"What kind of ridiculous question is that?" Mephisto had a horrible tolerance for alcohol, but compensated for it by being smart enough not to drink as  
much as Shiro had. Even so, he did look a bit... fuzzy. "Who in their right mind would wear a skirt with a tailcoat?"

"Just thinking it would go well with your legs, izzall." He poured himself another cup of saké and managed to get at least most of it in the cup. "I'm drunk,  
aren't I? I'm thinking about a dude in a skirt."

"In vinum veritas, as the Romans said", Mephisto snickered, sipping from his cup. "No, I'm more in favor of ballroom dresses. Very elegant, move  
gracefully when one walks, perfect for hiding one's tail~"

"Right..." He nodded to himself, a drunken smile plastering his face as images... wait, hang on... "...tail? You have a tail?"

"I _am_ a demon", he reminded, eyebrows rising.

Shiro's mental picture of Mephisto in True Cross Academy's female school uniform was marred by a long, arrow-tipped tail sticking out from under the skirt.

"Alright. You would look better in a ballroom dress."

"I do."

"So you have worn one?"

"Why, are you very eager to see me in one? The saké unlocking some inhibited desires you won't acknowledge~?"

"Well, if you're up to it..." Shiro's lips stretched into a playful smile, scooting closer to the demon. "'cause I really do have an inhibited desire... to yank  
that curl."

"To-?"

With dexterity belying three-quarters of a flask of saké, Shiro grabbed the offending strand of hair and tugged.

"Ouch! Ow ow ow ow, what are you doing?!" Mephisto grabbed his wrist in one hand and his curl in the other, trying to separate the two as painlessly  
as possible. He almost succeeded: then he instinctively leaned backwards, away from the drunk student, forgetting that he himself wasn't entirely sober.  
The leaning turned into falling, and the grip on Shiro's wrist dragged him down on top of him.

"Mud-monkey!" he growled at the face that was so close their noses touched.

"You're cute when you're angry, Mephisto-pon", Shiro grinned.

"Oh, really?" His fingers snapped once, and suddenly Shiro's legs felt very cold. "You're cute when you're wearing the girls' uniform. Enjoy your walk back to the dorms." And with a second snap, he was gone.

"Oh shi-"

* * *

This incident actually got its own fanart! Both of Shiro in the girls' uniform:

yfangirl1613 . deviantart gallery / 40580567# / d5kjfko

And of Mephisto in a dress:

yfangirl 1613 . deviantart gallery / 40580567# / d5kmpjd

Many thanks to **YFanGirl1613**~! (I still can't really believe you actually did it...)


	2. Concerning bathrobes

**In ch 41, Shiro has to walk back to his dorm in Mephisto's bathrobe. What if somebody had begun asking questions...? Thank XxAlysxX for this one.**

I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.

"Shiro-san...?" Shizuku gawked at him when he opened the door. "Just what the _fuck_ are ye wearin'?"

"It's called a bathrobe. I'm told the colour brings out my hair nicely", he smiled. Well, what the hell was he supposed to do? If you've  
been forced to walk home in a purple bathrobe you really only have two options: laugh at it, or kill yourself. "Ryuuji-san had a run-in  
with the Ice Queen. He's in my room at the moment, but I thought I should let you know. He'll come over when he feels better."

"Figures", Shizuku sighed. "An' what did you have a run-in with? The dark secret in ye' closet?"

"The pond down in the park, actually."

Shizuku leaned against the wall and shook his head.

"Man, if I _could_ make a charm 'gainst stupidity, I'd give ye one straight away." The corner of his lip quirked into a crooked grin. "Does  
bring out ye hair, though."

"Yeah, the old lady who lent it to me said so, too", he grimaced. Mephisto had good memory, alright: he'd apparently remembered  
that the pink yukata he'd lent him last time didn't go with his hair.

"Old lady?" Shizuku cocked an eyebrow at the garment. "That'd be the first time I see an ol' lady six feet tall. Or more." His head turned  
slight to the side, and his eyebrows knitted together as he eyed the bathrobe toe to head. "Come ta think of it, I haven't seen anybody  
tall enough ta wear somethin' like that." His eyes lingered at the collar. "An' that looks an awful lot like an 'M'."

"It does?" Shiro pulled at the collar to look at it, buying time to come up with some way to lead the conversation in a different direction.  
"I didn't ask her name. Could be her husband's, I s'pose. She did say she'd kept it after he-"

"Yer naked under that...?" Shizuku's gaze grew... awkward.

"Wouldn't do much good with a bathrobe if I was still soaked like a drowned rat under it", Shiro observed. "I've hung my clothes in the  
laundry room to let them dry."

"Alright, ye've got a quick mouth", the pilgrim said, nailing him with a less casual gaze than usual. "But yer not gettin' away with it this  
time. I'm gonna ask one question, only one, an' I want an honest answer to it. Does that 'M' stand fe' Mephisto Pheles?"

What would he say? Yes? He'd have to explain the whole thing, Knight practice, and Shizuku would wonder why Mephisto took such an  
interest in him of all students...

"...no."

It takes very little time to produce a single-syllable reply. When Shiro replied, that time was already passed.

"It doesn't bother me, ye know", Shizuku said, keeping his face surprisingly straight. "I've met all kinds on the road, none better or  
worse than the other. Wouldn't think ye were the type - but then again, ye clearly have a taste fe' demons." He made a half-hearted  
attempt to hide the grin spreading over his face behind his hand, but the glimmer in his eyes was filled with mischief. "Spent Christmas  
with no other company than each other, wazzit? Well well, an' a Merry Christmas it must've been..."

Shiro had never blushed so hard in his life. Which would only confirm Shizuku's misconception.

"It's NOT like that." Oh, splendid. Didn't that sound like just the kind of thing one would say when it _is_ like that? "All he did for Christmas  
was to read his manga and draw, and I _slept_. _Nothing_ happened, and it's NOT what you think!"

"...it can't be that _he_ drew that picture of ye?" Shizuku's grin widened to Mephistophelic proportions. "The one tucked away- oh, of course;  
the one _hidden_ away in ye' course book!"

"He did NOT!"

"It had a date on the back, ye know." Any more now, and the corners of his mouth would split. "Christmas 1975. An' ta think that I bought  
ye story 'bout some orphanage kid...!"

"Shizuku, for the love of god, it's NOT what you think! He's giving me lessons on how to use a sword! I only borrowed this 'cause his  
stupid familiar dumped me in the water and he could only get my clothes off and- hell, not like that! He snapped his fingers and my  
clothes went poof, but he couldn't poof me away, so I had to borrow this until they dried!"

"Sounds like very interesting... lessons", he grinned, barely able to contain his glee. "'e snaps 'is fingers, an' ye' clothes come off..."

Sometimes, Shiro grudgingly had to admit, it was probably better to tell the truth. Otherwise, people might make up their own truths  
without asking, and such truths are difficult to correct.


	3. Concerning lost bets

**...I got yet another idea after I had gone to sleep, so this is the definite (?) version. =P**

**Well... I think everyone wondered what would have happened if Shiro had lost the bet in ch 45, when he challenged Mephisto to a duel.**  
**What would Mephisto have made him do during that year...? Thank wildkurofang for this one~**

**As usual, I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

**I don't have any claims on Majokko Megu-chan or Rose of Versailles either. If you aren't familiar with either of them, please google  
for reference pictures. I chose them because they are contemporary mangas/animes from the 70's.  
**

In retrospect, it had been doomed to fail. Beat Mephisto at swordplay? No chance in hell. His plan had failed miserably, and now… he was paying the price for it.

A higher price than he could have ever imagined.

"I will kill you for this", he stated bluntly.

"No you won't~"

It would be difficult, yes, but he would do it. He would.

"Unless you stop rubbing your butt up against mine, I'll do it right here and now. Oh fucking-" Yes, he would kill Mephisto. And then he would kill himself.  
"Those girls that just passed by are in my class", he groaned, holding the stupid back-to-back pose for the stupid tourist with his stupid camera. "I think  
they recognized me."

"So?" Mephisto said idly, blowing a kiss to the photographer as he put his arm around Shiro's waist and led him on.

"I'm wearing a dress shorter than their skirts, you idiot!" he snarled. "If I didn't have the umbrella open behind me I'd be flashing my underwear to all  
of Tokyo!"

"Too bad the umbrella is translucent, then~"

Shiro suspected his face would soon be the same colour as his bright ginger wig. He closed the useless umbrella, pondering how to deal maximum  
damage to Mephisto with it.

"And why", he grated, eyebrow twitching spastically as he tried to pull the hem down and prevent further wardrobe malfunction, "couldn't you do this  
on your own?"

"But Shiro!" he said, appalled. "They're a team! You can't have Non without Megu, that's like having a moon without sun!"

"Then why couldn't I be Non? At least your costume covers _something_!"

"Purple is my favourite colour – and I look absolutely ghastly in orange. Besides, Non's eye-shadow goes well with my eyes." Mephisto happily twirled a  
tress of long, wavy fake hair around his finger. "And you refused to wear make-up anyway, Megu-chan~" he smirked, slapping Shiro's butt.

"Next time you decide I have to cosplay with you, you're getting me a character with trousers."

It couldn't get worse than this, anyway. Nothing could possibly be worse than-

Fuck.

"...there's nothing I can say right now that could save this situation, right?"

"Nope", said the little pixie with a wicked grin. Honda Kasumi, the female pilgrim with tongue sharper than any blade. "Fancy meeting ye 'ere,  
Shiro-kun." The grin grew wider. "Or -chan~?"

"For what it's worth, I lost a bet", he explained. The last thing he needed was for Kasumi to tell Shizuku about this...

"I see", she chuckled. "Well, I admire ye fe' going through with it, that's gotta be-" Kasumi's gaze was drawn upwards, and her eyes widened in shock.  
"Sir Pheles...?"

"Why, pleased to meet you, Miss Honda~"

Kasumi struggled visibly to control her facial features.

"Ye both lost bets, then...?"

"He lost", Mephisto said with a grin before Shiro could open his mouth. "I won."

That... was the last drop for Kasumi's composure.

"I think I need ta be goin'... s'cuse me..."

"You've ruined my life", Shiro said flatly, watching Kasumi wobble away doubled over in laughter. "That story will travel with her all over Japan."

"It would anyway~ One of those photographers was from the newspaper."

Shiro covered his eyes with his hand and let out an abysmal groan.

"That's it: I'll be the first man in history to commit seppuku with an umbrella..."

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, Mephisto wasn't unreasonable: he was just a jerk that twisted your requests into nightmare-versions of what you asked for.

"You have trousers", the demon pointed out with a grin three-miles wide.

"I also have a sword", Shiro hissed against the clawed hand he was kissing. "And I just might help the queen off with her head once the tourists have  
gone."

"Oh, but you're my valiant, ever-faithful bodyguard, aren't you~?" The hand twisted to grasp Shiro's, and pulled him up from kneeling position to-

"I am so not doing that."

"What, you can't dance?"

"No, I can't, and I'm _not _putting my arm around you even if I could!"

"It's the Queen's orders, Colonel de Jarjayes: remember, you lost the bet~" he purred, and cast an eye at their audience, "and I need to remind the  
swooning courtiers that you answer to the Queen alone."

Shiro pushed the blonde curls out of his face and cursed himself for the three-hundred-and-fifty-eighth time for accepting that bet. He placed his hand  
on the waistline of the extravagant Renaissance dress and took Mephisto's hand in his other. Damn that licentious bastard to the darkest pits of-

"Now now, that's not the touch of a devoted secret admirer~" Mephisto moved Shiro's hand to the small of his back, and in the process pulled Shiro so  
close they stood chest-to-chest. Indeed, there were courtiers swooning and cheering… and taking pictures… what the hell was wrong with girls, didn't  
they know Oscar de Jarjayes was a woman…? "I've been wanting to do this for ages, but I never got anyone to do it with me!" he beamed.

"I wonder why…"

"Yes, I should have thought of this before. You have such a good build for uniforms."

"Would you just shut up and-"

The crowd exploded in high-pitched squeals and camera flashes as Mephisto planted a kiss on Shiro's lips.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

"Going behind the scenes in the manga: it's obvious that Oscar is drawn to both Marie Antoinette _and _Rosalie."

"You _kissed _me, you jerk!"

"You're right", he said, pursing his lips with a troubled look. A troubled look that did nothing to hide the wicked glee in his eyes. "My bad: we're in France,  
so it should be a French kiss…"

Women in Renaissance France were completely disabled from running, both from too heavy dresses, too uncomfortable shoes, and too tightly laced  
corsets: Shiro was immensely grateful that Oscar Francois de Jarjayes had the good taste of wearing trousers and army boots.

* * *

Grace of **Zeitdieb / Quaniela**, this incident now has fanart! And I laughed till I cried... x'D It's just too wonderful!

quaniela . deviantart / art / Tribute - to - BtEatB - Shiro - Mephisto - Cosplaying - 350926600

quaniela . deviantart / art / Tribute - to - BtEatB - Shiro - Mephisto - Cosplaying - 2 - 351227357


	4. Concerning paths

**A/N: ...now, this appears to be the first chapter in BtEatB that is entirely out of the doodle dump itself. If you've read ch 2 and 3,  
you should have no problem following what's happening. This is from inspiration from Pheles-chan, and a very, very tired Dimwit  
with no willpower to do a maths exam.**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created. I don't own Majokko Megu-chan either.**

You learn many things on the road. You learn which ones to trust and which ones to mistrust. You fine-tune your senses to danger and learn that  
sometimes your gut knows better than your head.

When that inconspicuous knock rattled on the door, Shizuku's gut told him it was trouble. He approached soundlessly – and was answered by the  
same silence from the corridor: somebody on the other side of the door was holding his breath and waiting like a cobra.

Shizuku silently counted down from three…

...jerked the door open...

...dodged the wooden staff thrust at his abdomen...

...grabbed it...

...and yanked the assailant in...

"Woo~ Ain't lost the touch, despite bein' ground-bound."

She twirled the staff back around with ease and tossed it on Shizuku's unmade bed.

"Tch, should'a known", he grinned and pulled the petite little woman into a bear hug. "Doin' good, aye? Yer heavier, at least…" She squeaked happily  
as he lifted her; he'd always enjoyed doing that, ever since it was clear he would be the only one to inherit their father's height. "That a little niece or  
nephew o' mine buddin'?"

"Hahahaha, ye callin' me fat, that's what yer doing...? Those buds are in the right place, y'know! Lemme down, ye big oaf! I wanna have a look at ya'."

Kasumi eyed him up and down the way only a big sister can: critically, and with infinite love.

"…how boring." She pulled a face. "Ye're neither thinner or thicker. Or shorter."

"Yeah yeah: been hearin' that fer a while", he chuckled and offered her the chair from the desk. She plopped herself down on the desk – or up, if you  
were picky. "What news from the roads?"

"Oh, I got news alright~" she grinned impishly. "Popped by the convention over at Tokyo ta have a look at the weird folks, an' guess who I run into?  
Ye' dear ol' classmate with the big mouth: Shiro-kun. Or rather, Shiro-chan." Her grin grew wider, and her eyebrows rose suggestively. "All dainty an'  
dressed up as that girl from Majokko Megu-chan."

Shizuku sat – _fell _– into the chair, slapping his leg and laughing his lungs out.

"Oh I can see it; that stupid son of a-fuahahahahaaaa oh sweet Buddha…!"

"Oi, I'm- I'm not done yet!" she gasped in between roars of laughter. "Ye know who was dressed up as Megu-chan's partner…? Yer one an' only Sir  
Mephisto Pheles!"

"Ahahahahahah! Ahah-haah-ahahahahaaa yeah I can see it, I can see it wahaahahahaha oh I-fuehehehehahaha I'm still gonna… still  
gonna-heheheheheeee still gonna beat ya'…!" he breathed, shaking with laughter from head to toe. "I got news from here that'll kukukuku oh  
goodness…! I got news that'll make ye chin hit ye' chest…!"

"Not that much of a drop, then", she said, sticking the tip of her tongue out between the teeth of an impish grin. "Better than a human cross-dressin'  
with a demon? Go ahead 'n' knock my ears off, Shizzy~"

He collected himself to a minimum of composure, still grinning like a wolf at his sister.

"Cross-dressin's nothing~ Few weeks ago, our dear Fujimoto Shiro came walkin' in here dressed in Sir Pheles' bathrobe: dressed _only _in Sir Pheles'  
bathrobe."

Kasumi's face imploded, and unleashed a hurricane of laughter that almost had her toppling off the desk.

"Ye win! Wahahahahahaaaa oh ye win, Shizzy! Ahah-hah-ahahahaheheheheeee! Ah-ah-I'm getting cramps…! Ahahahahahhaha so _that's_ why…!"  
She clutched her midriff, struggling to breathe. "Fuhuhuhehe, got kicked outta bed by a disgruntled lover, did 'e…?"

"Oh, 'e tried ta explain it, ye should a' seen – blushin' like a boiled crayfish! 'e went all 'it's NOT like that!' an' sputtered like a hot kettle…"

"Oh, it _is _like that~" Kasumi chuckled knowingly, shaking her head softly. "Shiro-kun, Shiro-kun, so bold and so shy… It's cute, really. Never would a'  
guessed he was the type."

"Me neither." Shizuku wiped a few laughing tears off his cheeks. "But I told ye 'bout his fling with Midori-chan, didn't I? 'e seems ta fancy demons as  
much as they fancy him."

"_That _type he is, definitely… Good match, 's far 's I can tell. Sir Pheles is quite the looker, an' Shiro-kun's got a real nice body." Laughter touched her  
lips again, and she shook her head and sprinkled it into the room. "But how they keep from tearin' each other's throats out, I don't get. 'ave ye seen  
Pheles' office?" she asked, looking up at Shizuku. "It's a damn palace parlour, all creamy silk an' dark varnished wood. An' Shiro-kun with is tie all  
sloppy like that, hands in 'is pockets an' a cigarette in 'is mouth – pff, an' that mouth 'e's got!" Kasumi made an illustrative motion. "Like night an' day."

"Night an' day; opposites by nature, and yet they blend seamlessly."

"Ye sound so much like dad", she smiled.

"It grows on ye, I guess…" Shizuku scratched the back of his head absentmindedly. "'is khakkhara's ova' there, in the corner by the bed." Tall and proud  
and weathered, just like he had been... "'e should a' left it te you."

At this, Kasumi huffed, crossing her legs and letting the top one swing casually up and down.

"I've got my walking stick." She cocked her head at the piece of wood dirtying Shizuku's sheets. "It's my third leg an' right arm. Wouldn't want any  
other."

"Yeah, but ye were the eldest." He may be taller, and stronger… but when he looked at Kasumi, he always felt like the little brother. The only brother.  
The only son. "An' a much better exorcist than I."

"I've walked farther than you", she smiled down at him from the desk. "That doesn't mean I need a fancier walking stick. Ye were the one that said  
ye wanted ta go ta exorcist school, learn new ways ta protect people: ye were the one that was prepared ta walk new paths." She nodded her head  
in direction of the old battered khakkhara in the corner, smiling. "That there's a guide's staff. It's fe' the ones that walk up front an' lead the way fer  
others: not 'cause they're strong enough ta lead", she poked a finger at his forehead, "but because they possess a strength that spurs people ta follow."

"Ye sound like mom", he smiled at her. "An' I know fer a fact dad wouldn't 'ave walked many paths with that staff if it hadn't been for her."

You learn many things on the road. You learn by walking: new paths, old paths, strange paths... but most importantly, intersecting paths. Inter-  
secting paths that bring others to you: some that will follow, some that will lead... some as similar as dew drops in the grass, and some as different  
as night and day.

**A/N: With special thought to my brother, Doodle. Good night, all you lovely people that cross my path: once, twice, more often...?  
I learn so many things from you, and maybe sometimes you learn something from me. Maybe. The guide's staff isn't mine, after all.**


	5. Concerning intersecting paths

**A/N: Yes, I should occupy myself with more important things... but there was a part two to "Concerning paths" that just wanted to  
be written. Blame Pheles-chan. ;)**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created. Don't own Majokko Megu-chan either.**

* * *

Intersecting paths bring you many different people: some that will follow, some that will lead... some enemies, some friends...

Friends are the people that have your back, come hell or high water: the ones that are so determined to help you they unintentionally make everything**  
**worse. And some friends... some intersecting paths... make it a lot worse.

* * *

"I think I'll just keep it as it is", Shiro pondered, declining the pleasure of cigarettes for the once-a-year smell of blooming cherries in the air. "I've come  
this far in my Meisters, I'm doing well in all of them, and summer break is just around the corner. No need to drop any subjects with so little time left."

"A wise choice", said the little white dog trotting next to him at comfortable pace. "Come next semester, your high school years are over and you will  
have many extra hours for exorcist education."

"Yup. And if I can graduate to Lower Second Class, I can start earning payment as exorcist. Until then I'll have to look for part-time jobs."

"The Academy can always use more janitors", Mephisto suggested. In a purely helpful, one-friend-to-another manner, of course.

"Couldn't you find a more degrading task for me to do? Scraping chewing gum and bird shit from park benches or something?"

"That would be part of your duties as a janitor", the dog replied blithely, completely missing the surly note in Shiro's voice.

The evening cool brought out the smells of spring most terrifically. Of all the parks near campus, this was the one richest in flowering trees: it was  
also the one most popular with romantic couples, but this week was littered with exams and didn't invite for evening strolls under the fragrant pink  
clouds.

Mephisto had picked the route only because he knew Shiro would smell the flowers rather than smoke: the latter of which he never failed to complain  
about whenever they went for a stroll.

"Oi, Shiro-kun!"

Shiro stopped and turned, recognising the voice but caught entirely by surprise. Kasumi? Here?

"Finally: the man I wanna meet!" She walked towards them at brisk pace, her big breasts bouncing in a way that gave Shiro some hope of a romantic  
walk in the park after all: if only Mephisto would conveniently go poof. "Cute li'l fella ye have there." She sat down on her haunches to scratch the  
dog's chin: and oh, did he look smug about it… "What's 'is name?"

"Sammy."

The smug look disappeared with a huff and a glare that Shiro pretended to be blissfully unaware of.

"Yeah: anyway." She stood up again, directing her attention back to him. "How's ye love-life comin', Shiro-kun?"

"Uh…" Talk about straightforward. "Rather empty at the moment, unfortunately."

"Well, let's see if we can't fix that, then~" she smiled, and put her arm wound his waist.

Then again, straightforward can be pretty nice, too. It was Kasumi, after all: she didn't beat around the bush. Shiro followed suit and placed his arm  
around her shoulders.

"What's it that goes wrong?" she asked, striking up a slow walking pace. "Generally speaking."

In his relationships? Pff, that was an easy one. Just a bit… embarrassing. Especially with Mephisto trotting along next to them and hearing every word.

"Well, generally… speaking", he admitted, scratching the back of his head. "I always manage to say the wrong things."

"No surprise there", she said in analytical tones. "How do ya make up, then?"

"Uh… make up…?"

"How d'ya settle things? Ye know: apologise…?"

"Uh… I… don't…?"

Usually he just tried his luck with some other girl; he never got so attached to any single one that he saw any use in staying around if things turned sour.

"Are ye fe' real?" she sighed with exasperation on every syllable. "Look, ye dimwit, talking is the most important part of a relationship. If ye don't  
talk ye'll misunderstand each other, an' if ye don't sort the misunderstandings out they'll grow like weed. An' that's when ye end up kicked outta bed.  
Ye followin' me?"

He nodded. It was a little disappointing that Kasumi wasn't interested in him herself, but it was sort of nice that she cared to give him advice on  
approaching girls. Or, well, keeping them.

"Good. Now, I dunno what kind 'a blunder ye've made, but whatever it is ye'll go apologise. An' bring a present."

Apologise…? To whom? Must be an imagined scenario where he'd offended a girl…

"Okay, I follow. What sort of present?"

"Everybody's got different tastes – I'm sure you know better than I do", she grinned impishly. "Anyway: the right words an' the right gift an' ye should  
be forgiven. Though seeing as this is a rather special case, ye might have ta resort ta physical means." She winked at him. Why did she wink at him?  
What special case? Why was he feeling like he was totally missing some important point…? "If all else fails, a li'l seduction might be just the thing ta  
melt that heart back into ye' hands. Just wrap that 'gift' up in ye' Sunday best – or nothin' at all, tastes vary – an' show 'im a good time."

…there was a silence… inside Shiro's head… that shut down every thought he currently had…

Show _him _a good time…?

A sudden "coughing fit" at ground level shattered the silence, and the shards of it rained down on his head like broken ice.

"No, you… shit… Kasumi-chan, you've got it all wrong", he floundered ahead, torn between trying to save this mess and kicking the dog down a ravine.  
"I'm not- I'm not doing _anything _with Pheles, that's-"

"No need ta be shy 'bout it, Shiro-kun." She patted his shoulder with a friendly smile that completely butchered his pride. "Lots'a people have demon  
lovers – maybe not as steady as you, but-"

"Jesus, Kasumi! I'm not sleeping with him!"

"Only wearin' his bathrobe when ye're walkin' home naked", she grinned knowingly. "Did ya pull 'is tail in bed or something?"

Shiro's face twisted into a grimace of severe internal pain. That blasted bathrobe…

"That's- Yeah, I _know _what that looked like, but it _wasn't _like that! I'm training with him to-"

"Learn to use a _sword_?" she smirked, eyes sparkling with insinuation. "Well well, I'm sure he's a most _skilled _instructor~"

Shiro's face heated to the point he was sure his hair would catch fire. The dog pawed his nose frantically to ease an itch – or muffle bubbling laughter.

"Maybe ye could wear the Megu-chan dress, if 'e likes ye in that?" Kasumi mused ahead.

Somewhere… in a different dimension… this wasn't happening…

"For all that's holy, Kasumi-chan, I _swear _to you, I'm _not _sleeping with Pheles…!"

"Don't worry, I won't go tattle-telling on you", she ensured in confidant tones. "Wouldn't go down well with the Vatican, huh? They always were a  
backwards bunch. S' long as people are happy an' it doesn't harm anyone, why make a fuss, ye know?"

Shiro's heart sank with the realisation that, no matter what he said… Kasumi had already made up her mind about the state of things.

And if telling the truth doesn't help…

…you lie.

Anything to get her to stop talking, go away, and not give the little devil on four legs any more ideas.

"I wish more people could share that view of things", he forced out in a voice that sounded _almost_ natural. "_Yeah, go ahead and laugh: I hope you choke  
on it_", he growled inwardly, hearing all too well how the dog had begun wheezing and hiccupping with constrained laughter. "But I appreciate that you…"  
Oh, he could see his reputation wave farewell as it went down the drain… "…that you think it's okay."

"Aww, aren't ya just too sweet fe' words?" she chuckled, and caught him in a hug. "'course it's okay, silly", she smiled into his chest. "Never think  
anything else."

So perfect, and so wrong. Hugged under the cherry blossoms in the twilight, by a girl with E-cup, and she thought he was gay… If there is a god, he  
has a wicked sense of humour.

"Thank you." He returned the hug and stole a glance down over her shoulder. Mephisto returned it with the widest grin a dog can muster. "_I will kill you  
when she's left_", Shiro mouthed silently. "And thanks for your advice."

"It's nothin', Shiro-kun: just happy ta help. Best o' luck te you two", Kasumi smiled, and waved goodbye as she left to find herself accommodation for  
the night in town.

The smile immediately fell from Shiro's lips.

"Not. A. Word", he ground out, shooting murderous glares at the dog that had collapsed by the walkway, laughing too hard to stand.

"But Shiro~ Talking is the most important part of a relationship. Will I get gifts tonight, or later~?"

"You can get my boot up your ass right now if you don't shut up!" Shiro snarled before he could think. Always managed to say the wrong things, eh…?

"I was rather hoping for some other part of you…"

Shiro snagged the dog by the scruff of his neck, hauling him up from the ground to shout right into his face:

"KEEP YOUR FILTHY IDEAS TO YOURSELF YOU DIRTY-MINDED PIECE OF-"

*poof!*

So perfect, and so wrong.

All of a sudden, he was standing beneath the cherry blossoms, face inches from Mephisto's and his fingers threaded into the hair in the demon's neck.

"I like the fiery kind~" he said with a lewd smirk, and closed the distan-

Shiro pulled hard at the purple hair, and managed to get away with just a quick kiss. That _shameless _son of a-

"_…just kill me._"

"Not the words I would'a used, but it seems ta work anyway", Kasumi tittered gleefully, appearing out of his nightmares from around the bend she  
had turned moments earlier: and what a scene she got… "Not my intention ta interrupt, gents", she ensured, holding her hands up in a placating  
gesture. "Just fe'got a few things I was gonna drop off at my brother's."

"No harm done, dear Honda-chan", Mephisto said with a pleasant nod of his head. "On the contrary: thank you for talking to Shiro. Someone my age  
can't always speak the language required to still the fire in a young heart, but yours seem to touch just the right strings."

"Yer too kind, Sir Pheles", she smiled, bowing in return. "I reared one younger brother, I should know the tricks. Be good, now." She winked at them. "No  
indecencies out in the open, hm?"

"Only minor such~"

Mephisto leaned closer…

"_I will kill you for this, you perverted old goat!_"

He tasted of sweet candy and strong tea; a peculiar mix that made Shiro's lips tingle as if teased with hot pepper, and caused a tickling sensation to shoot  
through his jaw and curl trills in his eardrums.

"Minor?" Kasumi chuckled, a slight blush tinting her cheeks beautifully with the glow of cherry blossoms. "Ye can barely keep yer hands off each other.  
I'll leave you two te your indecencies, alright."

She waved again, and set course for the dorms.

"Dirty-minded, double-crossing, sneaky son of a bitch!" Shiro snarled as soon as she was out of earshot. "You _know _I'm not into guys!"

"And you know I enjoy teasing you for it", he answered easily, cocking his head to the side with a content smirk. "And the more you complain, the more  
I enjoy it. The only reason you would keep complaining, despite that knowledge, is because you want me to tease you." A lewd, cunning look spread over  
his face. "I believe you secretly enjoy it."

Shiro gave him a dull stare.

"Are you daft? I complain because I _don't _enjoy it."

"Knowing full well that it will only spur me to push you more."

…seriously, he saw nothing wrong in that reasoning?

"Oh, you're suggesting I agree to it instead, then?" he said dryly. "Nice set of options, that. It's gonna take a little more than a demon's tongue to  
convince me that _yes_ and _no_ both mean _yes_."

"Is that a challenge~?"

"No."

"I can think of a few ways to convince you…"

"No."

"You don't think you're being a little rash, saying you don't like something you've never tried?"

"No. I'll say it as many times as you like: no. No means no."

"Tsk tsk, those glasses really don't do you much good…" The corners of his lips curled slyly. "But all the same, you forgot to wipe your mouth."

And with a poof, Shiro was left to ponder that statement alone.

"_Tch, bastard…_" He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and spat generously, but was forced to sacrifice the smell of cherry blossoms for a cigarette: better  
to numb his nose and taste buds than have his mouth filled with the taste of sweet candy and strong tea. "_What does he mean my glasses aren't doing  
much good...?_"

* * *

Intersecting paths bring you many different people: some that will follow, some that will lead... some enemies, and some friends... and some myopic idiots that can't follow no matter how thoroughly their friends try to help and lead.


	6. Concerning landmarks

**A/N: Doodle, Gecko and I simultaneously cracked this idea. ^_^' I don't know if I'll work it into the main story or not, but for now it will  
be stashed here. It was too good not to make something of.**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

* * *

"Will I get to go abroad, too?"

He asked mainly to get a reason to stretch his cramping arm and take a break from homework. Shiro had occupied the round table in Mephisto's office, as  
usual; and as usual, he kept his papers stacked in the middle of it. It wasn't practical, as far as organization and overview went, but any paper sticking out  
over the table edge was fair game to the wastebasket. And while it was the genuine truth, none of his teachers had bought the "a panda ate my homework"  
excuse.

"There is the possibility of applying for international exchange once you pass exorcist exams." Mephisto tipped his wrist, and the personnel report he was  
reading, to show a cheeky smirk. "Don't want me as your boss?"

"Oh, I'm sure that would have its perks, too~" he said with a deceitful smile. "You might want to put those papers down before you take a sip."

Mephisto halted the teacup he had been about to drink from. Shiro's grin widened as he met the narrowing glare: and for a moment, they wore each  
other's expressions with absolute likeness to the original.

Eventually, Mephisto called his bluff and drank.

"I just brought it up 'cause Ryuuji-san got a postcard from his brother", Shiro picked up, idly toying with a cigarette he had no means of lighting. "He's  
stationed in Moscow. Says it's hell on earth except it's cold as a bitch, and full of demons feeding off the misery. Though maybe not in those words."  
Realising the potential of what he had just said, he shot Mephisto a sharp look. "You'd better not send me there."

"Would I~?"

"Oh yes: by airmail, for cheaper transport. Drop me off by parachute in a pile of snow and let me get eaten by bears."

"You do have an unfortunate tendency to form opinions of things you have no experience with", the demon stated with a cocked eyebrow.

"If you're trying to talk me into bed again, that's still a no", he said flatly, pointing his cigarette at Mephisto across the room.

"And a most amusing tendency to read into whatever I say", he smiled pleasantly. "Speaks quite a bit of what's on your mind, you know. I _was_, in fact,  
referring to the Soviet Union. It is far more than snow, bears and misery: its achievements in architecture are simply astounding, the wealth of the tsars  
poured into a magnificent display of-"

"You serious? That building on the postcard was like a gingerbread house built by some crazy magician. What was it called…?" He squinted and creased  
his brow. "Sabor Basiri Burashe…Bushiri…"

Mephisto gave him a blank look, though Shiro could tell he was running through his vast vocabulary for anything that could match the gibberish he  
tried to-

"Sabor Vasilija Blazhenava? Cathedral of Saint Vasilij the Blessed?"

"There's a language that sounds worse than German? Wow…"

"There is nothing wrong with German!" he objected, eyebrows spiking downwards. "And nothing wrong with that cathedral – why, it's unique in the  
world! An unequalled masterpiece of architecture; so dazzling that the tsar is rumoured to have had the architect's eyes gouged out to prevent him  
from creating another-"

"Yeah, I can see why he gouged the guy's eyes out. The thing's hideous. If I didn't know it was a church it'd chance a guess at a fairytale brothel  
from _Arabian Nights_."

It wasn't often you saw Mephisto this vexed. One could manage it by badmouthing German, sometimes, but this time around his agitation seemed  
to concern that god-awful-

"It's a _cathedral_", he pointed out with a grumble, and occupied himself with a stack of notes left by the Academy prefects. "It's of much greater dignity  
than a common church. And Ivan actually _liked _it: it was the _architect_ that blinded himself when he realised his designs had been-" Mephisto didn't  
deign to continue.

And in Shiro's mind… a creeping suspicion, that tugged the corners of his mouth… no, could he really…?

"His designs had been…?" he led on, finding an incredulous smile on his lips.

"What's it to you?" the demon sulked over his paperwork. "You don't like the cathedral anyway."

"I might change my mind. Maybe…" He pinched the tip of his tongue between his teeth to keep from laughing until he knew for sure. "…the building  
doesn't do the design justice? If the tsar himself approved of it, it must have been… fabulous."

"A work of art."

"Undoubtedly. Would take a great mind to compose something so unique."

"Quite so."

"And to replace the architect's drawings with it."

"The man was a puppet of the patriarchs, and so unimaginative." He evened the edges of the stack against the desk with a dry look. "_His_ design  
certainly wouldn't have ended up on postcards."

"No", Shiro agreed, trembling with full-bodied laughter. "No, it wouldn't."

* * *

**A/N: Check the building out, and try telling me Mephisto didn't design that... x'D It IS the only one of its kind, and there ARE a whole lot  
of question marks concerning who designed it, and what happened to him. Nobody has been able to accurately determine where the  
design ideas came from, or why nothing else in Russian architectural history resembles this huge piece of weed-tripping fairytale  
castle.**

**No offense to any Russian readers! But I kind of found your language impossible to learn, apart from reading it… ^_^' The transcript is a bit winged: I don't know how ж is transcribed in Latin letters, but with the similar sound in Mandarin Chinese it's usually zh.**


	7. Concerning mementos

**A/N: What would have happened, in ch 66, if someone _had _walked in on Shiro and Mephisto? Credit for this goes to Weiryn.**

**I do not own or profit in any way from what Kazue Kato has created.  
**

* * *

_Starts off right when Mephisto has turned back into human form after being towel-harassed and tickled~_

* * *

Disaster.

When Shiro heard the door open he threw caution to the dogs and pushed Mephisto-

Nowhere. The demon pushed back up against him, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"What the hell are you playing at?" Shiro hissed, opening his eyes to get a grip of the situation. Which didn't help much. For one, his eyes were -3.0  
dioptres. That granted him a range of clear vision of 30 cm; which, either way, did let him see Mephisto's neck perfectly well.

The demon was busy talking politely with a blurry man in some foreign tongue, and Shiro wondered if, and how, he was explaining the situa-

*poof*

Mephisto was no longer sitting in his lap, but on a small wooden stool.

"Wash my back."

"What?" Leaning sideways to peek out from behind Mephisto's shoulder, he saw the blur of a man gingerly lower himself into the onsen – and a  
bucket of hot tap water floated over to them accompanied by a sponge and a bar of soap. "Why?"

"I told him you were about to wash my back."

"Obviously." The bucket helpfully nudged his leg. "Have him do it, I'm on my way o-"

"No, it has to be you."

If not for the very unfamiliar note of urgency in his voice, Shiro would have left. But curiosity is not a trait limited to demons.

"And why is that?"

"Why do you think?" he huffed.

The bucket nudged his leg again.

"I'm not doing anything until you-" …the bucket was on the _other _side. Shiro's gaze shot down to his right to see what-

"I need you for hiding my tail", Mephisto confessed reluctantly.

Shiro stared at the sleek, black thing that plastered itself against the floor, followed the curve of his leg, and hid behind his back.

"You have a goddamn tail…"

"Of course I do: I'm a demon!"

"Yeah, but… doesn't everyone here know that already? Why would you have to-" There was no difference in Mephisto's voice, no tension in his bony  
shoulders, no change in posture or twitching of his hair curl… and all the same, Shiro could tell he was off balance. "Why should I bother saving your  
ass when you've got yourself to blame for this situation?" he probed, eager to see Mephisto's reaction.

A reaction that consisted of a sly smile over his shoulder.

"I can get myself a bathrobe anytime I want: but I wonder why I would be sitting in your lap, if your intention wasn't to wash my back? Out of breath  
and my hair all tousled, no less~" he said with a wink. "Such a naughty student, seducing his principal; really, you ought to be grateful _I'm _saving _you_."

…it takes a demon's silver tongue to make you swallow your pride in order to save it.

* * *

Washing someone's back was pretty normal – maybe that was the problem…? What was normal around Mephisto was not normal in the rest of the  
world, and trying to fit those two normals together was-

He had a tail.

Try as he may, Shiro could not drag his attention anywhere else. The fangs and the ears he'd gotten used to; humans had teeth and ears too, after  
all: his just looked a bit different. But a tail?

Shiro watched the lather of the soap dribble down his back, stark white against the short fur that covered the extra limb. Wonder what it felt like to  
have a tail? And wouldn't it be uncomfortable, to hide something that long in normal clo- Oh, that was the reason for the ugly trousers?

Shiro poured water over the bony shoulders and flushed the lather to the floor: when the hot water came in contact with the tail, Shiro felt something  
soft and furry brush hastily against his back. It had a tuft at the end? Wonder if that was purple too, or green? Maybe it had a curl…?

Barely had he begun to turn around to find out before the same soft, furry tip smacked him hard across the cheek.

"Uncivilized monkey!"

"Who's uncivilized?" He rubbed his stinging cheek. "I was just-" Peeking on a demon's most private parts: really, he should've learnt from the reactions  
of the umbrella-bat. "Oh. Sorry." Couldn't help but smile, though: shameless as Mephisto was, it was somehow also fitting his dapper manners to be a  
prude. That description didn't add up for shit, but then again nothing about Mephisto did. "Such a princess", he chuckled as he went back to washing.

"Manners and etiquette is the mark that distinguishes the gentleman from the rabble", he snorted. "Not that you would know."

"Nope. I'm just a monkey, scratching your back for scratching mine."

Interesting choice of words, since Mephisto seemed to have had his back scratched a few times before. Initially, Shiro had been surprised by how different  
European skin was to Asian. His hands were the warm, golden tint of wood: same as every Japanese who had seen a little sun. Compared to them,  
Mephisto's back was deathly pale: the kind of pasty white all Japanese women dreamed of. The scars were almost invisible in the pallor: thin, straight  
lines, crisscrossing all the way from his shoulders down to the middle of his narrow back.

"I thought demons regenerated all damage?" he said curiously.

"We do." The tips of the pointy ears twitched as he caught on to what Shiro was referring to. "Those are from when this body belonged to Johann."

"To Johann? That doesn't look like something a scholar would sustain." Unless he'd suffered severe paper-cuts when caught under a toppled bookshelf:  
those marks looked more like something made by cla- "Oh."

Shiro's hands halted the scrubbing. Awkward. A bit like when he had chanced upon a naked Midori in the woods, but so much more awkward. The  
oldest preserved tales of the legend did say that Mephistopheles had seduced Faust…

Forget the tail: how freaky wasn't it to be wearing your dead friend's – dead _lover's _– body? With mementos you had yourself clawed into its skin?

"If it's any consolation to you, he liked it~"

Shiro squeezed the soaked sponge over Mephisto's head, and earned himself a painful smack from the tail. Not that he cared.

"He was your friend, dammit", he snarled, and resumed the scrubbing with a thin line between his eyebrows. "And he died because of you."

"Death is always the price for life", the demon said sagely. "And for that price, I gave him a life worth living: nothing more, nothing less."

There is cold felt in the skin, and cold felt in the marrow of your bones. Watching Mephisto absentmindedly twirl the short, right tress of his bangs  
between his claws, Shiro felt the cold go to his very soul.

**A/N: Uh, yeah... That turned dark enough. ^_^' I will be musing more around Johann Faust in the main story later, but this could  
more or less be considered to be part of TEotB.**


	8. Concerning past sins

**A/N: Relates to ch 73. …I suppose I should rate this chapter M, for precaution. It's nothing graphic, just a tad disturbing if you  
think too much about it – made more disturbing by the fact that this sort of is canon. =/ Kato made Loke and Samael the same guy,  
yes? Which means that tales of Loke also apply to Samael. And that opens up a whole new world of possibilities, of which some…  
well, our ancestors appreciated a juicy, scandalous story as much as we do. ^_^' I try to write so that even if you aren't familiar  
with Norse mythology, you will get the gist of it.**

**For Zeitdieb and SkyHearts. (...even if this probably wasn't what you had in mind with "miniature Pheleses".)  
**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

* * *

Curiosity killed the cat, they say: as if that's the worst that can happen. They don't know shit, whoever "they" are.

Shiro had been surprised to find that there was a collection of Norse myths and tales in Japanese in the Academy library – or, rather, surprised that  
he had been able to find it in the massive amount of books said library housed.

Loke was featured in near every one of them; usually as the instigator of various adventures and bets. A trickster and a gambler. Shiro had to admit,  
he would've recognised the old goat even if he didn't know it had actually been him.

…but the thing with myths and legends is, you never know what's true and what isn't. That's when curiosity kicks in. And that's when things start going  
bad for the cat – or, in this case, the lion.

* * *

"...you said the Norsemen called you Loke?"

"So they did", Mephisto confirmed, stretched out on the couch in his office with a manga volume hovering above at comfortable reading distance.  
Shiro was quite sure that couch normally wasn't long enough for the demon, but had come to accept that things usually became what Mephisto  
wanted them to be.

"That Loke?" he asked, holding up the library book.

"There only ever was one."

"And you can turn into a flea?"

"I can, if necessary." Though his face said he didn't like it much. "The dog shape is by far the most convenient for moving about human society, however."

"Hard to tie a bow around a flea's neck, Cuddlebun?" Shiro chuckled and leafed ahead in the book. "But all the stuff in this can't be true, can it?  
Like you being carried away by an eagle 'cause you couldn't let go of the stick you beat it with, and then it turned out to be a disguised giant?"

"No no, that's the official story", he confirmed, idly turning a page in his manga. "Can't very well be seen in the company of other demons when I'm  
supposed to have sided with the Aesir, unless they think I've been kidnapped. The eagle was an old acquaintance of mine named Tjatse. He flew us  
over to Trym, a demon of some recognition in Assiah. We had a chat and a drink and a few other comradely pleasantries…" Mephisto laughed so that  
his whole body trembled. "And we had the most hilarious idea! Trym was throwing a feast in his lair and sought entertainment that his guests would  
remember 'til the end of their days, since he would have the King of Earth over." Mephisto wiped a tear from his eye, still chuckling in his throat.  
"Amaimon has the attention span of a goldfish, so keeping him entertained and interested requires something out of the ordinary indeed. I proposed  
we let Tor come to Trym's threshold, robed in full women's dress: that would make any demon of that time laugh until his lungs bled."

"Was Tor an exorcist, or something along those lines? He went on loads of troll-hunts and such." Shiro tapped the cover of the book with an inquiring  
look. "I'm assuming trolls and giants were their names for demons?"

"Quite correct", Mephisto confirmed, and continued the story: not the way it was told in the mythology, but no less entertaining. "Tor was a Norse  
Paladin, if one would shame the title by applying it to a heathen: a great warrior, feared and loathed among demons. His hammer Mjölner was like  
the Japanese koumakens, only… like Tor", he chuckled. "Blunt and crude, but perfectly lethal. And so fierce~" Shiro tried not to think of what the  
purring cadence implied about Tors fierceness. "Trym loved the idea, but doubted that I could accomplish that." A cocky smirk tugged the demon's lips.  
"Ah, whatever is one to do with such faithlessness? I raised the bar and told him I would have Tor at his threshold in _wedding dress_." He glanced at the  
book in Shiro's hands as if it were a photo album full of dear memories. Dear to him and horrible to most others involved. "Such were the days when  
I didn't wear the Vatican's uniform. I stole Mjölner for Trym, and told the Aesir that he wanted Freja's hand in exchange to give it back; Freja refused,  
of course. Lovely girl, that: refused marriage whenever it was offered, but never turned down the favours of marriage when that was suggested. Oh,  
and convincing Tor to dress up as her in wedding gown – goodness me, that took near every ounce of skill I possess, but it was worth it tenfold!"

"But… didn't Tor kill every single demon at the feast when he got his hammer back?"

"That he did." Mephisto seemed to think that part of the story was even funnier.

"But… Trym?" Shiro didn't quite follow. Help the demon, then kill him…? "And the guests, and-?"

"Nothing better than bloodshed to put a smile on my little brother's face", Mephisto snickered. "Tor and Amaimon fought to their hearts' delight, and  
Trym got exactly what he asked for: a feast his guests remembered to the end of their days."

…different places, different names; same demon. Which reminded him:

"What about Buroku?" Shiro inquired with a cheeky smirk, and took a seat in anticipation of the next unofficial story. "You could hardly have bet your  
head against him and lost, since your head's still there: or did it use to be even bigger~?"

"My head is by no measures big, and the story with Brokk was a misunderstanding", said Mephisto delicately. He kept a perfectly straight face, and if  
not for the discreet twitch of his curl Shiro would've missed that he was piqued. "And I couldn't relate what actually did happen, since he had stitched  
my mouth shut." So that part was true, then. "It's _difficult _to remove when your flesh keeps regenerating around the string", he clarified in surly tones;  
to no avail, since Shiro was busting a lung laughing.

"Hahahahehehehe maybe I should try that?" He made sure to grin extra wide to compensate for Mephisto's sour look and drooping ears. "Come on,  
you've gotta admit: even if it isn't true, it's a damn good story! Knowing you, the Aesir had plenty of quirks to invent stories around. Oh, like that one…!  
Hahahahaha that one, the one about the giant who bet he could build your fortifications in three winters! When you had to lure his work horse away so  
he couldn't finish on time!"

The sour look became-

"Indeed: I'm never doing that again."

There is the expression "choke on laughter", and there is actual choking on laughter: the latter is what happens when your friend suddenly tells you-

"You really got knocked up by a-?" Shiro closed his eyes. It didn't help one bit. "That… has got to be the most disturbing thing I've heard in my life."

"Believe me, not as disturbing as giving birth to an eight-legged horse."

"Oh I believe you", Shiro groaned into his hands, trying to somehow prevent more pictures from reaching his mind. "For the first and only time, I  
believe you completely. Why the _hell _would you-? With a goddamn _horse_?!"

"Horses are very big animals; a _giant's _horse is even bigger, and they really have-"

"I-get-it!" he cut off in an attempt to save his mind from that explanation. "I get it, I get it!" He would never be able to look at Mephisto again: hell, he  
might never be able to look at a horse again. "You… are such a slut", he groaned.

"I'm a shape shifter", Mephisto corrected with far too much amusement bouncing in his voice. "Broadens the selection remarkably."

"No, no…" Shiro sank until his head was almost level with his knees, and gave off an unarticulated noise reminiscent of an old door that wants nothing  
more than to drop off its hinges and become firewood. "You're not telling me the gigantic snake and the wolf were also…?"

"They weren't gigantic when they were born: Fenris wasn't much larger than I am in dog form."

"Oh god, you're disgusting." Shiro's skin was crawling off his body; he could feel it. That, and an urge to somehow have a black censoring strip cover  
Mephisto wherever he went.

"I was only mother to Sleipner", he pointed out reproachfully. "And Hel looked surprisingly human, despite-"

"As if that makes it _any _better in _any_ way! Chris'sake, you fuck _animals_…!" He wouldn't be able to look at snakes or wolves either. Or dogs.  
Mephisto – oh, what a _cuddlebun_ he was…

"Maybe I wouldn't, if I had a human handy who wouldn't whisper to the Vatican~?" he suggested shrewdly. "Blunt and crude and firece, not too unlike  
Tor: I wonder if you're as commanding in bed as he- Eh?"

Mephisto stopped abruptly at the knifepoint aimed at his nose.

"Knife." The sharp tip moved down from nose to lips. "String." Shiro held the spindle of spider string from Hyakki Yagyou in his other hand. "Good  
enough for Buroku; good enough for me. Say 'aaaah'."

* * *

**A/N: ...I apologise if I permanently damaged your view of Mephisto. =/**

**If you go by the myths, he had seven named children (and possibly more that were never mentioned): Vale and Narfe (humanoid),**  
**Jörmungandr (huuuuge snake-dragon), Fenris (giant wolf), Hel (only daughter, ruler of the underworld, possibly etymologically related**  
**to "hell" and "helvete"), and Sleipner (eight-legged horse). Addendum: I am aware that Loke had Jörmungandr, Fenris and Hel with a  
giant named Angerboda, but Shiro doesn't know that. And if it makes his thoughts wind in even more painful knots, Mephisto won't see  
any reason to enlighten him to how things really were. ;)  
**

**For the record, Tor was about the only one Loke held any real respect for, since he was as fierce as he was: threats coming from him**  
**were never empty. Plus he seemed to hang around Tor wherever he went... ^_^'**


	9. Concerning anniversaries

**A/N: It's lame... but just to have done something for the occasion. x')**

**I don't own any material used here, of course, save the characters I've invented: Honda Shizuku, Sakura Midori, Futotsuki Sen, and  
Karegawa Ryuuji.**

* * *

…Mephisto's worst habit, although it was stiff competition, was hovering mere centimetres from Shiro's face while the latter slept.

"Jesus Christ, stop doing that!" he croaked, and proceeded with peeling himself off the wall he'd pressed up against when he woke up. "What's it about  
this time? And what's _that_?"

Even _with_ glasses, the lump sitting on the plate in Mephisto's hands would have been impossible to identify.

"A cake, obviously."

Obviously. Shiro had no idea what you had to do to a cake to make it look like that, and pitied whoever had to eat it.

"For whom?" he asked warily. "It's July, I don't know anybody with a birthday in July."

"It's for Dimwit, you imbecile", Mephisto snorted. "Today is the anniversary for when she first published us."

Shiro rubbed his sleepy eyes with a deep, heartfelt groan. He'd completely forgotten. He tended to forget they had an author most of the time, and also  
tended to forget said author was a she - many people did, since Dimwit was a he in every aspect except the biological one.

"Have you ever stopped to think that poisoning our author equals suicide for both of us?" he said flatly.

"Beg your pardon", he said in surly tones, "but I am not _poisoning _anyone: it's a purely symbolic gesture, since Dimwit has no taste in sweet things at all.  
I'm merely expressing my gratitude and appreciation for the work she does."

Yes, gratitude shaped and coloured – and probably tasting – like a molehill. It was early in the morning, but there was something fundamentally wrong in  
that reasoning that didn't pass Shiro by unnoticed.

"Why not give her something she'd actually like instead?"

Really, Mephisto ought to have been intelligent enough to think of that.

"I never thought you'd ask~"

The cake must somehow have been connected to Mephisto's clothes, for both of them disappeared simultaneously at a snap of his fingers.

"No no no no no what are you doing?!" Shiro pressed up against the wall again, this time with a naked demon crawling up to him on all fours with a very,  
_very _disturbing look on his face.

"I do think Dimwit would like this – don't you~?" he purred while Shiro tried to keep him at respectable distance by pushing against his shoulders.

Oh yes: Mephisto was intelligent enough to think of something like that.

"I've had enough of this already! You two _always _go behind my back! Don't I have equal rights in this fic?!"

…nope. Shiro had realised long ago that Dimwit was a degenerate that sided with demons whenever opportunity presented itself, as was to be expected of  
what he had come to term "the perverted internet wraiths". Shiro had nothing against women, nothing at all; real women, that was. Perverted internet  
wraiths that repeatedly suggested he should jump into bed with his principal were demons in the guise of women, that much he was sure of.

For emergency situations like this, he had devised a solution he'd picked up from a man he held deep respect for, a man he really would've liked to meet if his  
author hadn't been such a lame purist: Dean Winchester.

Shiro grabbed the piece of chalk he kept next to his switchblade under the pillow, threw himself out of bed, and drew the closing line into the circle on the  
floorboards. A devil's trap.

"Wha-? Crossovers is cheating, Shiro!" Mephisto sputtered indignantly behind the invisible barrier.

"Pff, look who's talking – I've seen you take drawing lessons from Kuchiki Rukia during lunch break, you know." Shiro tossed the chalk leisurely up and down  
in his hand, smiling as he pondered what to do next. The tables had turned in a most interesting way... "I seem to recall Dimwit likes tails…" His eyes  
wandered to the one part of himself that Mephisto bothered to keep hidden in the tousled sheets. No bad physique for someone so old, though…

"No, no, and _no_, Shiro", the demon declared and crossed his spindly arms.

"Oh come on – who was it that wanted to give Dimwit something she likes, hm?" he jeered. "Be a good dog and wag your tail for your master~"

"I would be more than happy to play this kind of game with you if I weren't stuck in a devil's trap", he said acidly, with a hair curl that vibrated like a tuning fork.

"Well, try looking at it this way: play along and I might release you?" Yes, he enjoyed this more than was morally defendable – so? Had to make the most of  
it when Dimwit for once decided to take his side.

"I find that the presence of 'might' somewhat deters my enthusiasm."

"Really? I find it kinda spurs _my_ enthusiasm", he returned with a pleasant- no, nah, not really: a criminally amused grin.

Mephisto's face was a fine shade of mixed pink and purple that looked a little like the bruise that was currently forming on his pride. With tightly clenched jaws  
and fingers clutching the sheet in death-grips, he slowly reared the tail up. It was longer than Shiro had expected, with a fine coating of black hairs that ended  
in a tuft of-

Shiro covered his face with his hand in a feeble attempt to smother the unhinged giggles that bubbled up in his throat.

"Snnrrkukukuku you've got a bow…!" And what a dainty little thing it was, pretty pink and purple stripes to match the tuft that had bristled into a toilet brush  
of pent-up rage…!

"You are earning up some very unpleasant karma points, young man."

"Pfffufuhuhuhu good luck trying to sound menacing when you've got a tail pimped out like a My Little Pony's!"

"Just you wait till I get out of- OW!" The air crackled viciously as the finger Mephisto pointed at him got a little too close to the barrier.

"Aww – broke a nail, princess…?"

There would be hell to pay, but he couldn't care less right now. He would die smiling with this day in min-

"_Why is it that Dimwit just _loves _opening doors at the most inconvenient times…?_"

The doorframe filled with a cloud of balloons, serpentines and confetti, and the faces of his friends, which looked rather…

"Okay, Shiro." Shizuku looked, and sounded, like he was trying his best to imagine the scene before him didn't exist. "No explanation, just a yes or no: are  
ye usin' my sister as ye' gay beard?"

"No, I really do date your sister." He massaged the scowl lines between his eyebrows, but suspected that they would soon settle permanently anyway.  
"Mephisto is here because-"

"Because Shiro seems so fond of having me in bed that he drew a devil's trap that prevents me from leaving it – unless I'm a good dog and put on a private  
peep show for him~" He did put on a most indecent display, kneeling with his legs apart and hands planted on the mattress between them. Shiro appreciated  
that pose when performed by women, but Mephisto's lecherous bedroom-look made every hair on his body curl inwards.

"_Where the hell did that dog-collar come from…?_" No: priorities, priorities. Save the situation first. "Okay, don't trust a demon's deceptive words, that's the  
first rule. Today's the anniversary of _The Beginning of the_ _En_-"

"It's _The End of the Beginning_, Shiro-kun", Sen corrected helpfully.

"Yeah, whatever: the anniversary is today, and his idea of a good present for Dimwit was… was guy-on-guy love. I had to confine him somehow."

…apparently, none of the others was aware that Dimwit had such interests, and looked rather disturbed about it. Except two of them, who were unlikely to  
be disturbed by anything short of necrophilia.

"We came for anniversary also", Midori informed, proudly presenting him the somewhat crippled balloon dog she'd made. "Hold this."

Not knowing what else to do, Shiro accepted the balloon dog and let Midori trot into his room.

"My apologies, Sir Pheles", she said, bowing gracefully to the naked prisoner before turning on her heel, and collecting the cover from Saburota's meticulously  
made bed. "Better like this, maybe?"

"Yes, much better. Thanks, Midori-chan."

"It's not better! I can't see a thing!"

The rest of the cram school class filed in through the door once Shiro's bed had been equipped with drapes hung from the bunk above. Sen had brought board  
games and a real cake, Shizuku had made flags to hang around the room, Ryuuji had brought sparklers and lemonade, and Midori had brought her newfound  
love for balloon animals (which soon populated both window sills and the greater part of Saburota's bed). Shiro donned some clothes, lit a cigarette, and overall  
they had a great time of celebrating, except-

"Shiiiiiroooooo~ let me oooouuut~ it's _boring_ in here…!"

Except the incessant whining from behind the improvised drapes.

…but you can't have everything, can you? Ryuuji's flute drowned it out a bit, when he picked that up; and the laughter when they got into the board games  
was distracting enough. Tanuki are said to bring good fortune and money, among other things, and while Ryuuji had shown no such tendency in real life he  
proved absolutely impossible to beat at Monopoly. Shizuku sat carving between his turns, and at the end of the game placed a second donkey next to the  
Shiro-donkey on the bed-table.

When the sun glared at them through the window with its red eye, and they were all well fed on cake, lemonade and laughter, they wished each other a  
good night, and dropped off each to his or her respective bedroom. By the time Shiro was left alone to sleep, amongst half-mast flags and lingering sparkler-  
smoke, the whining behind the drapes had long since gone quiet.

"It was a great anniversary, really", he said in conversational tone, and buttoned open his shirt. It wasn't until now he noticed that Shizuku had fastened a  
miniature bow around the new donkey's neck, and attached a curl made of wire on top of its head. Really couldn't drop the subject, that guy... "Sen put  
sparklers between her fingers and danced with them; like fan dancing, but more awesome."

The drapes glowered quietly at him.

"I didn't know she could dance at all", he continued effortlessly, having left the shirt on the desk chair and proceeding to unbuckle his belt. "And Midori became  
really good at balloon animals after a while – you should see her giraffe."

The drapes sucked in surrounding sounds to become, if possible, even more quiet.

"And I figured out what we're gonna give Dimwit." Shiro dropped his trousers and socks on the chair and squatted down by the drapes, leaning close as if to  
whisper a secret. "You know what she likes the most…?" he smiled.

Receiving no reply, Shiro gingerly lifted the hem of the drapes and stepped into the devil's trap.

"Teasing", he finished, and let the curtain drop them some privacy for the night.

* * *

**A/N: Boots high and low to my most (over)used**** elements in _The End of the Beginning_. x) I've seen myself spoken of as both "she" and "he"  
by various people (sometimes even "they"), and I just wanted to bring some order to the confusion and say that I'm fine with either, really.**

Thank you all for reading! x)


	10. Concerning fashion

**A/N: A while ago I had a chat with a friend of mine who's studying for textile engineer. She knows craploads about fashion and fashion  
history, and I took the opportunity of asking a bit about Mephisto's peculiar wardrobe. The result put pictures in my head that I simply  
couldn't get rid of.**

**This is canon for TEotB, and chronologically set in between chapter 94 and 95. Why I'm not putting it in the main fic? Uh... it's going to  
be long enough already without little behind-the-scenes detours like this one. x')**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.  
**

* * *

Habits, as all knowledgeable people should be aware, are dangerous things. Routine hides in the flesh like a parasite, and dulls the sharpest mind with habitual  
behaviour to prevent scrutiny and uprooting. Anything can become a habit: the danger lies in not being aware of habits, and thus not being aware of where  
they might lead. Most are harmless; some are beneficial, some are detrimental, some lead to new discoveries…

* * *

Sleepovers in Faust Mansion were becoming habit, and for good reason: the comfiest bed in the country, the greatest selection of films any private person  
owned, and a nine-course breakfast buffet awaiting in the morning. The only drawback was Mephisto, really.

"Assssss-haaaaaaat…!" Shiro hissed as he slowly fumbled his way around the room for the third time. He was used to having his lighter confiscated when he  
visited, but to wake up in the morning and not be able to find his glasses was a different matter. "Why do you have so bloody many toys, you twit?" It was  
nothing short of a miracle that he hadn't knocked down anything yet. He'd looked everywhere, even inside the display cases that held the principal's most  
valuable pie- "Ouch!"

The button-eyed plushies looked innocently at him from atop the drawers he'd banged his foot against. …and only then did it strike Shiro as odd that Mephisto  
had drawers, when he had a walk-in wardrobe twice as large as his dorm room.

"_Scarves._" Heh, so that was where his lighter landed? Good to know for future sleepovers. Next drawer: "_Socks._" No, not really. "_Oh Mephisto, you're  
unbelievable…_" Shiro lifted up one of the striped stockings between his forefinger and thumb, and still couldn't quite grasp that it _was _silk stockings. "_My  
god…_" With something in between an embarrassed laugh and a snort he put the stocking back and proceeded to the third drawer.

…and after the initial shock, he laughed.

"Of course you're the kind to keep trophies, you horndog." One, two, three – no, he couldn't count how many there were. "Seems you like ladies with slim  
waists", Shiro snickered to himself as he admired an especially delicate lace garter belt that had a pleasant smell of lavender about it. "The Vatican's obedient  
guardian dog indeed."

"Obedient in all that matters", Mephisto's rich voice replied from the bedroom door. "Pray tell; why are you going through my drawers…?"

"Pray tell; where did you hide my glasses?" He pushed the drawer shut and faced the talking blob. "I'm a wee bit handicapped without them."

*poof*

"You left them by the bathroom mirror", said the in-focus Mephisto in the doorway. "Yare yare, humans blame demons for all kinds of things."

"And more often than not, we're right in doing that." Shiro adjusted his glasses and nodded his head at the drawers with a smirk. "A habit of keeping mementos,  
huh? Quite the collection of good memories there. She must've looked smoking hot in that lacy pink one."

An unusually blank look crossed the demon's features, followed by the most lecherous smirk Shiro had seen in his life.

"Well well: I know what I'll be wearing next time you sleep here, then~"

…and gradually… Shiro's face came to match the pink garter belt…

"No… shit, no…" But the pictures kept coming, one worse than the other, and made his face crinkle up in pain. "Oh _god_…" He covered his eyes, but kept seeing  
Mephisto in… in… "I can never look at you again, you pervert…!" he groaned from the floor, rolling back and forth as if plagued by invisible insects that he  
desperately wanted to crush. "Why the hell are you wearing women's undergarments?!"

"Women's?" he snorted, crossing his arms. "I'll have you know that garter belt and stockings were the finest haute couture a man could own in the 1550's."

"This is the twentieth century, you ass!"

"True fashion is ageless: garter belt and stockings are still in high demand", he said in blithely lilting tones.

"For _women!_"

"Indeed: history is often gravely misunderstood by future generations."

"It's _you _who're misunderstanding contemporary society", he groaned into his hand. Rolling around didn't help, only made him motion sick on top of the  
general… discomfort.

"Are you sure~?" he grinned all the way out to his ears. "I hear contemporary society thinks I'm smoking hot in lady lingerie."

* * *

Habits are dangerous things. Most are harmless; some are beneficial, some are detrimental, some lead to new discoveries… and some lead to discoveries you'd  
rather not make.

* * *

**A/N: Mephisto's trousers and stockings date approximately to mid 1500s: and if they do, then he is wearing a garter belt with them. x)**

**As a curious anecdote, I worked this into my cosplay, even if that (fortunately!) doesn't show. I can recommend anyone doing Mephisto's**  
**principal's uniform to include attaching points for garter belt straps in the stockings. It works miracles.**


	11. Concerning entirely different things

**A/N: Right… this was a bit of a challenge. ^_^' Different setting, different timeline… well, you'll notice many things that are different.**

**The suggestion was made by **_**ManiacalMuffins**_** (gorgeous name, by the way!), and my muse really took a liking to it. It turned out vastly  
****different from what I'd expected, as some snippets do, but I think that is because it wants to be a story in itself, not a one-shot. So think  
****of this as a few snapshots from a much longer fic that only exists in my head, or a quick recap of said non-existing fic.**

**No~ I still don't own anything Kazue Kato has created~**

* * *

*clank*

The off-key note leapt gleefully from the ivory keys and sent a cringe through him as it landed on his sensitive ears – yet, he kept playing. Beethoven's  
tenth symphony was a work of art, and he hadn't spent hour upon hour rehearsing it to-

*ca-lank*

A selection of vocabulary highly inappropriate for a man – well, youth, at least – of his standing came to mind, but he clenched his teeth around it and  
maintained a face as flawlessly polished as the lacquered wood of his grand pian-

*clank*

"_Insufferable demon_", he growled inwardly, noticing how the creature lounging on the piano lid began to idly leaf ahead in the music sheets in front of him.  
Well, let him. The music poured from his heart, unaided by black-inked crutches for the eyes. He was prepared for this. He was going to play the tenth to the  
end, and the final notes would pull the guests off their chairs in awe, and they would applaud him, and admire him, and-

*clonk*

He gritted his teeth and ignored the un-timed taps that shredded his dreams into kindle wood for the fire burning in his tight chest. No, he would do this.  
He had been given the honour of performing before the banquet, in front of the German Empire's most influential elite; he, the most talented Hohenzollern  
in his generation, the one who would one day title himself Kaiser over Europe's most powerful nation, the one who-

*clonk*

"Would you _for once_ stop it, Shiro?" he hissed through his teeth, feeling his composure thin as the weft of his dreams came undone under the scrutiny of  
the guests around the banquet hall's tables.

He, the one who was singled out to be tormented by an excruciatingly galling demon.

"Don't wanna mess up in front of the guests, heeh~?" The unkempt tuft of white hair tipped sideways with the childish motion of the creature's head.  
"Don't wanna disappoint dear daddy?"

_Nihil Sine Deo_. His family's motto: _Nothing Without God_ – oh, the irony… Mephisto had to toil through every day without any aid from God, whose existence  
he had severely come to doubt: if there truly were a God in the heavens, He would strike down a chandelier and crush the… the _thing _that smirked gleefully  
at him from atop the piano.

"I don't need to answer inane inquiries", he retorted under his breath and swatted at a finger that came sinking towards the wrong keys – with any luck,  
the guests would be assuming he was bothered by insects. "You know full well this is an occasion of highest import, with all the significant politicians and  
aristocrats attending: so would you _for heaven's sake _leave me be just this on-"

With a grin and a flick of his finger, Shiro buried Mephisto's nimble hands under scattered music sheets. Still, he kept playing: to meet the expectations that  
saturated the air, and to defy that _conceited_ little pest…! This was his moment to shine, this was when he would dazzle them all with his talent and charisma  
and wipe the smudges off his reputation once and for a-!

"Tsk tsk, how can a Crown Prince be such a klutz?" he chided merrily, dusting the fuzzy tip of his tail over the piano lid; far too much like a cat toying with a  
mouse. "Who'd dare place an empire in hands like yours?" The tail crept slowly towards the edge of the instrument, teasing Mephisto with the knowledge  
that it could move as leisurely as it liked; if he were to make a grab for it, he would miss notes. "Why, one wouldn't even notice any difference if they were  
broken."

…ah, the virtues of a noble up-bringing. The moment Shiro's tail flipped the heavy wooden lid down over the keys, Mephisto's impulse to pull away from  
danger clashed with an instinct to behave and excel that had long since become second nature: and the young Crown Prince did something he very rarely  
had to do.

He bowed.

Head pressed hard onto the concave curve of the wood, he kept the lid open while his hands still played Beethoven mere inches from his flushed face.

Mephisto knew he was the Court jester, and there was nothing, _nothing in the world_ that he detested more. The Reichstag thought his nerves were too  
weak to hold before crowds; the servants quietly wondered if his wet-nurse had dropped him headfirst when he was little; his father…

"_Father thinks I'm unfit to be the head of state_", he thought, feeding oil onto the flame of silent rage in his chest.

He had stopped trying to tell his family about Shiro long ago. Little children could tell fairy tales of imaginary creatures that knocked down glass and tripped  
him when he practiced fencing; young adults who spoke such nonsense were locked up for their own safety – and the safety of the family name. So Prince  
Mephisto wasn't brilliant. He wasn't talented, and he wasn't elegant. His skill and wit never showed but in the privacy of his shadow, and to the rest of the  
world he was merely a klutz, a hopeless case, a bumbling subject of ridicule behind his back and _all for the sake of that accursed demon_…!

"Hooo~ that's rare", the vile creature cooed happily. "Can't let such a humble display go unrewarded, when you so rarely bow that big head of yours, can I?"

Behind the curtains of his black hair, Mephisto's face twisted into a grimace of humiliation, fear and fury. Reward? Reward for this _disgraceful_ circus he was  
forced to enact, in front of the very people whose expectations hung like a yoke over his shoulders, the people that should hold him in awe and respe-

Quick, light feet scampered down his neck and into his ruffled collar.

"There ya go~! A persistent little friend: just like the prince who keeps crawling no matter how much he's stepped on."

Mephisto locked himself away in his bedchamber for the rest of the evening, covered himself in layers of bitterness and self-pity to shut out the murmur  
of voices that chuckled at their Crown Prince, who couldn't play the piano very well, and who screamed like a little girl over a cockroach.

* * *

Mephisto had seen demons as long as he could remember. They ranged from frightening to laughable, and he had learnt that neither laughing at them nor  
shying away from them was a recommendable way of dealing with the matter. Laughing drew their anger, and shying away their interest – whichever was  
worse was up for discussion, but experience clearly showed neither was pleasant. What undoubtedly worked best was to ignore them: play ignorant, as the  
rest of mankind seemed to be. Ignore the occasional theft of cutlery, and the claws that sometimes pulled his trouser leg to trip him. It wasn't always easy,  
but it had worked splendidly – until he met Shiro.

"Pardon my language", he muttered over his geography studies, "but won't you kindly go to hell?"

"Won't you kindly take off the well-bred straight-coat and act a little less like a bitter old man, eh? You're sixteen, Mephi. You should be out chasing girls an'  
breaking bones when doing stupid-ass tricks on horseback to impress them!" And to rub the message in, so to speak, Shiro ground the toe of his boot into  
Mephisto's head from where he sat atop a high wardrobe.

"I'm confident you would find some way of spoiling that for me, too, wouldn't you…?" he said curtly, leaning away as he dipped his quill in the inkwell with  
a graceful motion.

There was no possibility, not even a remote one, of ignoring Shiro. The demon simply wouldn't have it. Every room he entered was his, every patch of  
ground he stepped on he owned, and Mephisto vividly recalled the day – how he wished it had never come to pass – when Shiro had walked into his  
chamber, seated his tailed behind on an embroidered chair, and rolled himself a cigarette using Mephisto's French homework.

"Pff, you'll make a proper Kaiser – paranoid already. Essential for surviving in the political world." The demon hopped down from the wardrobe, hands in the  
pockets of the utterly unfashionable black coat he wore. "Is that what you want? A game of strategy an' suspicion? Gonna spend your life moving those  
ambitions up to heaven high, notch by notch, and leaving all freedom behind?" A pair of folded arms in tattered sleeves descended on Mephisto's head, and  
with a second weight a stubble-strewn chin laid itself on top of them. "Kaiser isn't a life, boy. It's a job. A twenty-four hour, seven-days-a-week parasite job  
where the title eats up all that's you under it – an' when it's finally time to hand down the title to the next poor idiot, there's nothing of you left. If you're  
gonna have a life, little prince of mine, you're gonna have to live it before you're crowned."

"I am _not _any little prince of yours!" Mephisto successfully stabbed the feather of the quill upwards, and got Shiro off his head with a sputtering noise. "And  
don't spit on the floor!"

"Then don't stick a feather in my mouth."

The demon had already spat on the floor. Glorious.

"That is so… unsanitary", he grimaced, whereupon he reached for a wooden panel on the wall and pulled the cord that would bring him a manservant.

"You're calling a servant for that?" Shiro's snow-white eyebrows rose over eyes tinted red. "The poor thing will think you're even more of a spoiled brat, ya  
know: first spitting on the floor, then calling someone to clean it up for you."

"I am not. Cleaning up. Your spit", the young prince retorted in frigid tones.

The demon just grinned: a wide, annoying grin that spelt _mischief _in white fangs.

"You'd never do that, my proud little peacock. Wasn't what I suggested, either. I'm just saying that if you're calling for someone to clean up, at least give  
them something worth the effort."

The painting above the mantelpiece – a rather quaint thing depicting a hunting scene, with a heavy, gilded frame in French style – came crashing down as  
the nails that held it disappeared.

Mephisto flew out of his chair – heavens, that painting had belonged to his great-grandfather, it was made by a distinguished Dutch painter…!

He caught the frame before it hit the stone mantelpiece, but not before it had knocked down – oh god, that was a clockwork automata from the late  
sixteenth century…!

…a million glistening pieces of Mephisto's composure clattered over the marble floor.

"You idiot! You complete and utter- utter _ass_! Do you know how much that was worth?! Ape! Why do you _always _have to- _no!_" But the kerosene lamp  
tipped off its stand before he could reach it, and his sole consolation was that it hadn't been lit.

For the next minute, Mephisto had no idea what he was doing. He woke from his tantrum only when the inkwell he'd hurled at Shiro hit the servant  
that just opened the door instead. The demon stood beside, stifling laughter into his hand… and the servant couldn't see him. All he could see was broken  
porcelain in a pool of kerosene, priceless clockwork mechanics spilled over toppled candelabras and torn canvas – and a young prince quivering with rage in  
the midst of it all.

As usual.

Mephisto pushed past the ink-stained servant without a word, stalking down the hallways. He hated crying. Hated, hated, _hated _it…! Hated that everyone  
took him for a hysteric ninny, hated them for not seeing Shiro, hated Shiro for taunting him and baiting him…!

…hated himself for falling for it.

* * *

…the kid was kinda cute. The way he got all flustered over the smallest things, like finding that his shoes had been hidden on the morning before an  
important meeting. He had tons of shoes, could've picked any pair – nobody would see them through the meeting table anyway. But no, he had to have  
_those _shoes: they matched his cravat. Or something like that.

Shiro was notorious for not following orders. Actually, it was one of few things he was really good at. When higher-ups had passed him the command "make  
sure the Hohenzollern Crown Prince doesn't become Kaiser" he had considered passing them a "go screw yourselves" in return, but thought better of it. He'd  
rather eke out a dull existence in Assiah than get disciplined for insubordination in Gehenna. So he did his job, albeit in the laziest manner possible.

At the moment, he was watching the young heir practice fencing in the sunlit yard. The gangly little shrimp was quick, and did well in fencing – when his  
boots weren't foddered with blackberry thorns.

Shiro had, to his well-concealed astonishment, heard the prince decline a change of boots when the instructor saw his predicament: when fencing one should  
wear fencing boots, nothing else. It wasn't a matter of comfort, but of _etiquette_.

…he'd nearly fallen off the tree branch when he heard it. Etiquette! Oh, the precious little thing, just as much a geared automaton as that old clock he'd broken!

Shiro didn't complain. Once he'd observed Mephisto up close, an entirely new enthusiasm for his task had flared up within him. His little prince was exceedingly  
stubborn, and ambitious, and fussy – and pompous. In short, he was wonderful; and Shiro could pull his strings as easily as Mephisto pulled the cords to call for  
services from the castle staff.

…he didn't have any clear plan on how he'd prevent Mephisto from ascending the throne. Come now, that was years ahead. The current Kaiser was alive and  
kicking, the little shrimp hadn't even seen a pair of naked breasts yet, and as a last resort he could always off him before the coronation ceremony; it wouldn't  
matter, as long as he got the job done eventually. If he rushed it and snuffed the prince now, he might be given some dreary work in bloody Siberia, or a task  
of similar attractiveness. So prince Mephisto lived.

* * *

However, life is a transient phase in human existence.

Though he didn't say it, Shiro was sure some part of Mephisto's miserable condition owed to the fact that tuberculosis was a disease for the working class.  
It wasn't something a prince caught.

…the question was, of course, whether it was something a prince survived. Mephisto was just about two-dimensional; not the kind of build that could endure  
any prolonged illness.

It would take care of his job for him. It would ensure the Hohenzollern prince was never crowned Kaiser of the German Empire. It would relieve him of his  
duty and set him free to roam Assiah as he pleased once more, until the bigwigs found some new thing to bother him with.

…but Shiro wasn't sure he wanted that. It came as a surprise, much like the disease had; but when he stood by the foot of the large bed at night, and the  
pale face on the down pillows seemed to fade away before his eyes, he knew that he wasn't ready to take on a new job just yet.

"Hey, kiddo." No response. Shiro seated himself on the bed and gently shook the scrawny shoulder. No reaction. If it hadn't been for the pained, wheezing  
breath coming through the parched lips, he would've thought the kid was dead. "Wake up, Mephi." No sign of life beneath the glistening film of sweat. "Come  
on, Mephi: I know you hate that name. Wake up, I need to talk to ya." Shit, his skin was burning. "_He might die._"

Before Shiro even knew what he was doing, he'd peeled off the sheets and lifted the thin body out of the bed.

"_It's large enough to hold five Mephis lined up side by side, you scrawny little shrimp_", he muttered silently and magically opened the window latch. There  
was a feeble coughing rattling through the body in his arms, and the smell of warm blood seeped into his nostrils. "_Don't you dare die on me. I'd look even  
more like an idiot than I already do._"

Shiro landed softly on the gravel surrounding the castle. It was a night shrouded in darkness that promised rain before morning – good. The fewer who saw  
what he was doing, the better.

Shiro strode across the yard in long steps, past gaudy statues and flower urns tall as a man. What _was_ he doing, for that matter? Humans lived and died,  
had done so for millennia before he'd been born and would continue to do so for millennia after he'd turned into shapeless ether. Prince Mephisto was human,  
following the same rules as all humans did: what would it matter if he died after seventeen years or seventy?

"_I'm not through with you yet, shrimp_", he thought to the life-sized horse statue rearing up on its hind legs in the middle of the fountain.

That mattered. Humans lived and died, and when Mephisto was dead there would be no more flustered outbursts over misplaced shoes. There would be no  
more warning glares when he tipped wine glasses at the banquet table. There would be no more Mephisto. And if Shiro could have a say, he'd rather have  
seventy years of flustered outbursts than seventeen.

"_…well, here we go._"

Shiro seated himself in the knee-deep fountain pool and drew a hissing breath at the temperature. Carefully, he scooped up water to wash the face and head  
that was still above water. The prince whimpered and shuddered in his arms, body quickly cooling down from burning to bearable. Unconsciousness didn't  
release its grip, and yet he pressed against Shiro's body heat, clutching weakly at his coat for comfort.

So feeble, humans. So frail and pathetic it was unbelievable they could have become so many: there in the German Empire, they were increasing by _millions_.

"You're real stubborn, aren't ya…?" he murmured to the frail, pathetic human in his arms. The human that was _alive_. "Hell-bent on proving your worth,  
no matter how many times I screw it up for you." He rested his eyes on the pale face, the long eyelashes, the chin that had gained just enough stubble that  
it could be called a beard; and pulled a small, crooked smirk. "You'd probably make a good Kaiser. Can't let that happen, unfortunately. Boss' orders." He  
pushed away a few hairs that clung to the damp cheekbone. "Hey, Mephi? Think you can wake up now?"

The light shake triggered another coughing fit, and tiny specks of blood dotted his lips. He wouldn't last another week like this.

"Come on, you sissy: I'm trying to save your life here." He washed off the blood gingerly. "The least you can do is cooperate."

Mephisto's green eyes opened, but that was all: painted glass windows in a vacant castle. It took a long while before his pupils really found Shiro, and even  
longer before his fever-heated brain recognised him.

"What are you doing…?" he whispered through rusty vocal chords.

"What I said: saving your life. Yeah, I can do that; but not for free." Shiro tapped a long, pearl white claw on Mephisto's nose. "You're gonna promise me  
something as payment. You will pass your claim on the throne to your brother Amaimon."

Defiance, cold and sharp as steel, flashed over his face.

"Never."

"Much good your birthright's gonna do you when you're dead", Shiro observed casually. "'cause you will die, I can ensure you. One way or the other, if you  
strive to become Kaiser you will die. That's what I was sent to do." Bingo, that got the shrimp's attention. "It's high up on my bosses' wish list, apparently.  
'Use any means to ensure the Hohenzollern Crown Prince never claims the crown'. Now, if you swear to me you won't, that would make my job much easier,  
and you could… I don't know: write poetry or whatever bored aristocrat boys do."

Mephisto was smart – had to hand the kid that. Even with a fever, one could see the cogs turning smoothly in his head and making sense of all the years of  
humiliation that had carefully eroded of his standing in the royal family. All the years he'd fought for his dreams; the automaton dreams of one born and  
raised for a single purpose that was about to be taken from him forever.

"I promise", he wheezed, clutching the soaked fabric of the coat tighter in his hand – and in his eyes, the flame of dying dreams was replaced by the fervent  
desire to live. The desire that made those feeble humans so incredibly stubborn. "I won't become Kaiser. I won't claim the throne. I just… please... I want to  
live."

"_…he knew._" The thought hit Shiro like a sledgehammer in the chest. Mephisto had known he was dying; had accepted it, succumbed to it, slipped into  
unconsciousness and very nearly died, with dignity… And now that the starless night promised the hope of life, dignity ran down the spoiled prince's cheeks  
and lost itself in the black waters of the fountain. …no, not a prince. A human. A seventeen-year-old human who had died and been reborn on the same night.

"You'll live", he promised – and the usual mischievous smirk crept back up on his lips. "Though I don't think you'll like the process."

"What proce-mmph…!"

Mephisto struggled like a fish on a hook in the water, but Shiro cupped his head firmly and kept their lips pressed together. The illness was in his lungs, and  
this was the easiest – and most enjoyable – way of drawing it out. It tasted awful, like foul blood and rotten timber – tch, his host body would hate him for  
this, but he could heal better than the scrawny little shrimp could. He felt the disease leaving him, probably, for in a few seconds he stopped struggling.

…heh.

Shiro ran his tongue gently over the parched lips, kissed them and nursed them in ways that would induce a different kind of fever in the young prince.  
Oh yes, he'd take advantage of human weakness, mental or physical. Besides, it couldn't really be called "taking advantage of" when the other returned  
the kiss, right…?

"How mmh~ h-how long is this process?"

The prince's face was flustered, but it was a healthier glow than fever, and bore only a remote similarity to the usual flush of anger and embarrassment.

"That's taken care of long ago", Shiro replied with a smug grin. "You seemed to enjoy it, so I thought I'd be a shame to stop."

…as beet-red as his favourite shirt. What a most fascinating skin colour.

"That- that was my first kiss…!" And no wonder he hadn't been chasing girls, like other boys his age did. "And you had the _audacity _to-!" His angry oration  
dissolved into violent coughing. No blood, but Shiro could swear all the bones in the thin body rattled together like drumsticks.

"Easy, Mephi, it's gonna take some time before you can throw things at me again", Shiro chuckled and lifted the sopping wet prince out of the fountain. "Now  
we need to put you back in bed before anyone comes to check on you."

* * *

**A/N:**

**Dimwit's rambling~**  
**  
The idea** was "what if Shiro was the demon and Mephisto the human?" Even when I tried to keep as much of their personalities as possible, within a  
plausible frame, it entailed more changes than I had originally thought.  
**  
Mephisto** became younger. Not the almighty xx millennia old schemer we know, but someone who has the basics and could grow into that person with time.  
He also lost most of his (openly) promiscuous and sinister traits, since I think that is more of a demonic thing and wouldn't work well with a 19th century  
nobleman. In all, Mephisto became more human-like. For developing into the more demon-like Mephisto, I was thinking of using court intrigue (I can see  
Amaimon evolving into a rather cruel, rather volatile Kaiser: a mix of Nero of Rome and Vlad III of Wallachia) and the impending First World War as catalysts  
to "twist" him a bit.  
**  
Shiro** needed a sliiightly darker edge to be passed off as a proper demon; but he still had to retain that buried spark of compassion that made him cure the  
Myou Dharani sect members. Not simple to do. ._. He would basically have to take over much of TEotB-Mephisto's fascination for human nature to enable that.

I'm well aware demons don't show their tails; but I also think that Shiro wouldn't be a typical demon (he wasn't a typical human). He's pragmatic above all  
else, and formal etiquette seldom gets along well with pragmatism: if he thinks it's more comfortable to leave his tail loose, he will. If he could bend human  
rules as a human and raise Satan's twins, then he can bend demon rules as a demon.  
**  
My second idea** was to make Mephisto a drifter of a conman who used his charm and wit to woo wealthy widows. ^_^' (Come on, you can see Mephisto  
doing that, can't you?) In that scenario, he and Shiro would find themselves competing for the attentions of the same widow (one for her money, one for  
her soul), and after gaining a better understanding of each others' motives they would team up and become some sort of Bonnie & Clyde duo that acted  
wingmen for each other and essentially raised hell wherever they went. The first idea won out because then I could make Mephisto miserable… x'D *writers  
are a cruel breed of humans*

* * *

**Kaiser **– same as emperor, frankly.

**Clockwork automatons** – I paid a visit to the British Museum this summer, and was completely blown away by their exhibition on ancient clockworks and  
timepieces. Clockwork automatons were the highest fashion in the 16th century, especially in Germany, and production was funded by none other than the  
Holy Roman Emperor at the time (plus a few other filthy rich monarchs who wanted to show off). The most impressive one they had on display was a model  
of a galleon in gilt brass, with little figurines that would move on deck at set hours, and a miniature cannon that would shoot. xD


	12. Concerning leftovers

**A/N: Leftovers of various kinds. ^_^' This chapter will be updated with more of them as the main fic progresses (can't spoil for you). They  
aren't proper one-shots, just... leftovers.**

**I do not own or profit from any of what Kazue Kato has created.**

* * *

**This short dialogue was written as part of ch 64, at the demon festival Hyakki Yagyou. I intended it to be after Mephisto had left the "dance"  
and saved Shiro from the snake demon, but in the end it didn't work out.**

"Had a good time…?"

Mephisto's ears twitched near imperceptibly, like a hypersensitive radar picking up interesting signals.

"My my: are you _jealous_, Shiro~?"

Shiro felt his face heat up like a thermometer put in boiling water.

"_Keep calm. Don't rise to the bait. Play the game_", he told himself and kept a cocky face. "Just trying to be civil, but if that's how you wanna play it – out of  
curiosity; do you top or bottom?"

"Want to find out~?" he asked with a smirk that made Shiro feel like a string instrument tuned wrong.

"Alright, I back down", he said, raising his hands in surrender. "You're perverted on a way too high level."

"_You _asked~"

"And in place of an answer, I got a question I never asked for."

"You can have an answer, too. I am content to do both; preferably at the same time."

Shiro let pretence fly and buried his face in his hands with a pained groan.

"I don't think I can ever look at you again…"

"Easily solved, if I top."

"For god's sake, stop it…!"

* * *

**Chronologically after ch 45. This is a stupid snippet that happened after I had a laughing fit over the first chapter in the manga, when I  
noticed that Satan has a little star popping off his fingers when he has possessed Shiro and introduces himself to Rin. I see who Mephisto  
got his dramatic vein from... xD**

Shiro stood still for a long time, watching the demon play chess with himself: until a piece was put down with a certain click. He didn't know why he knew  
what that sound meant: he just did.

"As pleasant as silence is, coming from you it's unnatural", Mephisto concluded, glancing up at him beneath drooping eyelids. "And contrary to popular belief,  
I can't read minds."

Oh, just spit it out!

"It's bugged me for a while now." Shiro tilted his head to the side, one eyebrow cocked to fire the question. "I resemble my dad." This was so… stupid. "…do  
you…?"

Mephisto turned back to his chessboard with a merry snicker.

"What a thing to ask! We share the same sense of humor, that's about as far as the likeness goes."

Shiro's face carried out impressive contortionist acrobatics as he tried to apply that.

"Pfff-mh-mfwehehehehahahahaahaaahaaa…!"

When he was still laughing after half a minute, Mephisto's curl started twitching in annoyance.

"Do tell, what has my father ever done to inspire such mirth in a human…?"

"Ehehehah, haah, ah… just imagining Satan attacking sleeping people with permanent marker…!"

Mephisto covered his eyes with a bony hand, merry laughter trickling from his fanged smile.

"I suppose he would, if given the chance…"

**(A/N: You know you're picturing Satan as a horned Jigglypuff now... x3 )**


End file.
